While this is not my first time writing a story about Portal, this is the first time I've actually uploaded one anywhere. I know it doesn't seem as if it's going here, which is why the full summary will be included at the beginning of each chapter.

"An original story based after the events of Portal 2, set in the dark spaces below Cleveland, Ohio.
Old blueprints of the Borealis mentioned a branch set up in Cleveland, but you never paid much attention to the rumors that people were disappearing. When you are captured by GLaDOS and reluctantly become one of her many test subjects, it's at first hard to see the big picture. An old enemy of Aperture has returned, and is attempting to break in. The worst part is that you think they have help from a fellow conspirator on the inside."

I'm worried that most people won't read further than this because of the prejudice against original characters. I certainly understand, as normally I give such stories short shrift. However, in this story's defense the protagonist is just a small piece in the scheme of themes. This plot has been barreling through my brain, and I have to get it out somehow. I'll probably update every week in order to keep my mind running ahead of the updates, but we'll see how that goes. In any case, reviews and critiques would be appreciated.

Chapter 1: Aperture Station

The subway had always been the easiest way for you to go home in the evenings, the familiar whoosh of the shuttle along the rails lulling you to sleep and the tiny jolts when it stopped waking you up along each stop. Fortunately, you didn't usually have to switch lines in order to go to the Woodhill station, which was a couple of blocks away from your home. On occasion you would take the subway on a Saturday morning, getting off where you liked and exploring the city with your digital camera in hand. You fancied yourself an urban explorer, and Cleveland had plenty of old buildings to explore if you avoided the law.

This morning, however, you were being held up around Tower City, on your way to look around what was promised to be an old asylum. The crowds were heavy on this Saturday, and the last red train headed toward West Park had been full before you reached it. Stuffing your smartphone into your heavy jacket, you glanced around with a shrug and hefted your backpack. It would be seven minutes until the next train, and with luck you could take a bathroom break and get back when it arrived. Weaving between people, you headed down one of the tunnels, following the signs for the restrooms. The bathroom was most likely filthy, so after you did your business you self-consciously washed your hands. No need to get germs on the camera hanging from the strap on your neck. Once your hands were suitably dried on your jeans you exited, glancing left and right down the corridor. Which way had you come from again? Both ways headed off into corridors, and on a whim you took the right one. You could always double back if it wasn't correct and find your train.

Your sneakers gave soft squeaks against the concrete floor as you glanced around the corridor, noting the slow change from the familiar underground portion of the subway to arched ceilings. A familiar edgy buzz was building in your shoulders and sternum. The abandoned and the ruined always sent a thrill through you as your body recognized danger from the unknown, and gave you adrenaline that no horror video game could match. The incomprehensible chatter of the travelers faded with each turn, and you made sure to choose passageways that led away from the station. On occasion you pulled out your phone and checked its compass. It stated that you were heading southwest, and the inbuilt 'map' wasn't showing very much movement away from the station. Rolling your eyes, you put it back in your pocket. The map was rarely helpful, though the compass aided by your sense of direction was often invaluable.

It was increasingly clear to you that this area of the subway station was abandoned, probably because it led to another rail that wasn't used. Graffiti lined the walls, with the lamps overhead filling the tunnels with a barely-audible buzzing. At first people had written crude messages or their names and dates, but then others had come and sprayed artwork over the old in a patchwork of underground history. As you walked you occasionally found stairs, choosing to follow them downwards. After another flight of stairs you exited onto a barely-lit platform and looked around. The whole place was clearly forgotten, and a peeling sign labeled ' PE TUR ' hung over a row of sagging seats. This didn't look like the usual blue and white plastic signs from the station above, so you figured it must have been built earlier. You wondered which station this had been, pulling out your phone to check your bearings. According to it, the abandoned subway tracks made a direct line from north to south. You wondered how long this part had been abandoned as you turned on your camera and held it up. Letting it adjust to the light for a few moments, you began to snap pictures of the entire area. After about a minute you remembered how tired your spine and shoulders had become, so you lowered your backpack to the ground. As long as it didn't ruin the shots, you didn't need it weighing you down. Once you felt you'd covered the area pretty thoroughly in your camera's memory you moved onwards. It seemed there hadd been one entrance and one exit to funnel the passengers. Therefore, you decided to see where the rails led.

The asylum could wait, you decided as you hopped down off the platform and bent your knees to reduce the shock of landing. This had a much better photo opportunity, and no one had said anything about it before. You avoided the middle rail out of habit, not that it worked, and made your way to the center of the two lines. The platform on the other side seemed exactly the same, so you gave it no further notice in order to look down both tunnels. The north side seemed to end a little ways down with a place meant to store and furnish the shuttles. Retrieving your backpack, you pulled your large flashlight out and aimed it at the only shuttle left. The rust seemed like blood at first in the white light, and you took a moment to snap a photo as you switched the flashlight to your non-dominant hand. Letting the camera dangle once more, you walked around to the doors and tugged on a handlebar. It didn't open. Surprise.

You had some trusty lock cutters in your backpack (solely to cut wire and rusty locks, you swore) but they weren't meant to open mechanized doors. You regretfully took some pictures of the outside and turned back. Then a distant clang made you freeze.

There shouldn't be anyone down here. Not even you. In addition, that sound had come from the platform you'd just arrived from. You hastily looked around for a ladder to get back up onto the other platform, but either there wasn't one or it was obscured in the blackened mess encrusted on the side. That only left one option. Moving as quietly and quickly as your sneakers allowed, you ventured toward the south side of the rail lines. You wondered where the line led as you jogged forward. What sort of station only had one subway line leading to and from it? However, you were too busy getting out of sight of the platform. If someone was checking up down there, you were in danger of breaking the law. Hopefully they wouldn't think to go all the way down the tunnel as you were doing.

Speaking of going all the way, your legs were beginning to tire and you'd been jogging for five minutes. You internally berated yourself for your lack of physical fitness, then slowed to a walk to cool down. It seemed to be a fair distance, and your flashlight beam illuminated the grubby tracks far up ahead. The realization hit you that while it seemed like a short distance in the shuttle, walking was a poor alternative. Your feet begged for a break as your calves brought up a fond desire to break into the shuttle to the north and drive it over. If it worked. And if the rails were powered. Then again, maybe not. You kept walking.